


Dating for the Undead

by Stef



Category: Dead Like Me
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-01
Updated: 2012-11-01
Packaged: 2017-11-17 13:16:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/551971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stef/pseuds/Stef
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To date or not to date - that is the question.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dating for the Undead

**Author's Note:**

> Very AU, but for some reason I just love the idea of Rube and Daisy together.

"Dinner?" Daisy repeats as though it's a foreign word. They all eat breakfast for nearly every meal, so maybe it is. "Why, Rube, is this a date?"

The look he gives her makes it clear that not only is this not a date, but if she keeps it up, she will be footing the bill.

"Italian okay?"

She smiles. "I didn't think you knew there were other restaurants in Seattle."

"I didn't just move here," he says, and he doesn't need to elaborate further. She knows what he means; when you've lived as long as they have, you quickly learn how to adapt to a new town – where the dry cleaner is, which are the best restaurants and which ones are shady at best, where the morgue is, that sort of thing. When you have to take a soul on Oak Street at four in the morning, you better know where Oak Street is.

"I'll pick you up at seven," Rube says, and Daisy finds herself agreeing.

-0-0-0-

"You're going on a date. With Rube," George says in a voice so flat it sounds as though she might be sleep-talking.

"It's not a date, Georgia," Daisy says, adjusting her hair in the mirror.

"Then why are you primping?" George asks, her smile impossibly smug.

Daisy tucks an errant hair behind one ear with a prim smile. "I primp for breakfast with you and Mason."

"Mmm. True."

Daisy doesn't mention that she's spent more time picking out her outfit for this not-date then she's ever spent picking out something for breakfast at home. She wants to look nice – attractive, classy, not over the top. But it isn't a date and she's not out to snag a man, particularly not Rube.

She freshens her lip-gloss and notices George still lounging in the doorway. "Where are you off to tonight?"

George shrugs. "Mason's dragging me to some new bar that's supposed to be all sixties retro."

"And you agreed?"

"I just don't want him deciding to relive his sixties days by drilling another hole in his head."

"I, for one, was glad when the sixties were done and gone," Daisy says. "A remarkably unhygienic decade."

"And Mason hasn't quite let that part go," George adds. "Or the drugs. But at least he's not one of those 'peace, love, and harmony' hippies. They freak me out."

Daisy thinks about saying that Mason might have been at one point, but no reaper is all about 'peace, love, and harmony'. They're about death, melancholy, and secrets – the reaper trinity. But she doesn't. She doesn't say that all reapers change and don't change over the years. They're not as careless as the living but they never really forget what it's like to be alive. They move with the times but part of them is always stuck in the decade in which they died. But George needs to make these discoveries on her own and so Daisy just nods her agreement.

"Well, have fun tonight, sweetie," she tells George. "And don't let Mason go too crazy. Last time the two of you went out I kept finding drugs and liquor stashed in strange places for days afterward."

"You're telling me. I found a bottle of Oxycodone in the vegetable crisper and a bottle of Jack Daniels in my laundry bin."

Daisy waves her hand in a 'this is what I'm saying' manner right before the doorbell rings.

Her stomach does a strange little twirl and dive, and she almost laughs. It's been so long since she's reacted that way. It's nice to know that she can still feel, but disconcerting because she knows it's just Rube. Stodgy old Rube with his New Balance sneakers, his battered leather jacket, and his dark eyes and darker moods.

But when George lets him in, Daisy has to admit that he looks very good in a suit – stylish, classic, dapper, just the way a man ought to. It's a little surprising – she's only seen him dressed up for special reaps. She had honestly expected him to show up in a black t-shirt and cargo pants. But then she thinks she should have known better. Rube is always impeccable, prepared for every occasion. She remembers the time that she and Mason broke into Rube's apartment – all that polished dark wood, beautiful fabrics, and classic lines. This suit fits with that image of Rube much better than his casual dress does. Daisy wonders which is the real him and if she'll ever work up the courage to ask.

"You ready to go?" Rube asks her.

She nods, slipping on her heels. "Have a good night, George."

Rube guides Daisy out with a light hand on the small of her back. "'Night, George," he calls over his shoulder.

They are both quiet on the way to the restaurant and Daisy wonders if this was a bad idea. She's a reaper for God's sake, and an actress to boot – she should be able to make small talk with anyone, but something about Rube tonight makes her feel tongue-tied.

She's relieved when he finally says, "George and Mason going out tonight?"

"To some sixties retro bar apparently."

He lets out a short huff of laughter. "I hated the sixties. God-awful decade."

"The seventies, too," Daisy agrees. "Not a decent trend for twenty years." She has a sudden inspiration and asks, "Which do you think was the best decade?"

Rube smiles with another laugh. "I can't narrow it down to just one, but I'd say the last decade or so for the necessities – food, clothing. Convenience, lots of choices – can't beat it with a stick. Fabrics have gotten nicer too – softer. Early to mid-twentieth century for the music." He considers. "I liked the fifties. They were good – quiet, but good."

"I must say, you have excellent taste, Rube," Daisy says and truly means it.

"What about you?" he asks.

"I always liked the twenties. It was a nice decade to grow up in – after the war but before the Depression."

Rube's voice is quiet as he says, "Yeah, the twenties weren't too bad."

Daisy smiles brightly in an attempt to rectify the feeling that she's somehow said something wrong. "Cars have come a ways since you're 1898 System Panhard. A ways since my '36 Austin, too."

Rube glances at her with a surprised smile. _He's probably just surprised that I remembered something he's said,_ she thinks. She knows his opinion of her, but she's never been a lady to show her cards all at once.

"'36 Austin, hmm?" He nods with some appreciation then leans towards her conspiratorially. "As much as I hated the sixties, my favorite was my '63 Jaguar E-Type." He sighs. "God, I miss that car."

"I always liked the Series I better than the Series II."

"The lady knows her cars," Rube says and although his face doesn't show it, there's a smile in his voice.

"I know my money," she corrects.

She runs her fingers along the tan leather interior of the car door. Last time she'd seen his car it was nothing as nice as this. "This new?"

"Hanging," he replies.

"Accidental?"

"Suicide."

"Oh." Bad for the dead, good for the undead. They always get their big-ticket items from the newly deceased. But it's still a bad way to go, and she says so.

She doesn't consider herself Catholic anymore (she doesn't think), but suicides have always struck her as sad…morbid, even. And she hates hangings – slow and ugly. Daisy's seen a lot, but she still hates to see that.

They arrive at the restaurant and Rube pulls the car into a parking spot right up front, what Daisy thinks of as 'princess parking' although she can't for the death of her remember why. She moves to undo her seatbelt but Rube stops her with a hand on her arm.

"Do me a favor," he says and Daisy can only nod. "Let's not talk about work tonight."

"Sure," she agrees although she doesn't know why it should matter.

-0-0-0-

"—and just as I push it out of the ditch, this fucking buggy speeds past throwing mud up everywhere," Rube says, a silly smile on his face.

Daisy smiles too. "What did you do?"

Rube chuckles at the memory. "There wasn't much I could do. I was covered head-to-toe in water that looked like fucking sewage and didn't smell too much better."

"And the girl?"

"Drenched." Rube grins. "I can't even remember her name but I can sure as hell remember the look on her face when she finally got the mud out of her eyes."

Daisy claps her hands together with a delighted laugh. "What happened?"

"I wouldn't stain your delicate ears with the words that came out of her mouth at that point. And for an hour afterwards."

"You put up with that for a whole hour?"

"The car broke down again. What else could I do?"

Daisy shrugs. "I figured you'd kick her out ten minutes in."

Rube feigns surprise. "I wouldn't do that" He intently scrapes a bit of crumb topping off of his tart and eats it with a thoughtful expression. "At least not until the car was fixed."

"You didn't!"

"Left her in the dust."

"All by herself?"

Rube made a noise in the back of his throat, a noncommittal scoff. "It was only half a mile out of town."

Daisy leaned forward with a gleeful smile. "Brutal! Please tell me it was in a gigantic mud puddle."

"Alas, she wasn't so unfortunate. Still it did my heart some good to see her standing in the road, still wet and looking like she had climbed out of a swamp."

Daisy grabs her fork and breaks off a bite of Rube's raspberry tart.

He makes a face at her. "Help yourself."

She smiles sweetly. "Thanks. I will."

Rube shakes his head but can't keep a slight smile from curling up one corner of his mouth. He pushes the plate towards her and gestures to it with his own fork.

Daisy raises an eyebrow then steals another bite of his dessert.

"Good?" he asks with an amused glimmer in his eyes.

"Very," she replies and pushes the plate back towards him. "Have some more."

"Very nice of you to let me eat my own dessert."

She nods amiably and together they finish off the raspberry tart. They chat for a little longer while waiting for the waitress to bring their bill. Daisy is mildly surprised when Rube drops enough money to pay for both of their meals and a sizable tip for the waitress.

He stands up and offers Daisy a hand up. "Offer you a ride home?"

Daisy eyes his hand with a mock wary expression. "You're not going to leave me by the side of the road if I call you a name, are you?"

-0-0-0-

When Daisy gets home, she finds Mason and George sitting on the couch, watching a nature documentary on turtles.

"I keep hoping they're going to mutate and learn karate from a rat," Mason is saying when she walks in.

"I always wanted to be Donatello," George replies.

"What I never understood is how that April bird hooked up with four mutant turtles. I mean, they're giant fucking turtles!"

Daisy takes a seat in the armchair by the fireplace and slips her heels off, flexing the kinks out of her feet. After seventy some-odd years, her feet have adjusted to the strain but that doesn't mean they hurt any less.

"What are you two talking about?" she asks the pair on the couch.

"Cartoons."

"What happened to your sixties-retro thing?"

"They wouldn't know sixties-retro if it bit them in the ass," Mason mutters. "By some sort of snapping turtle. A _giant_ snapping turtle."

"It was a bust," George clarifies with a roll of her eyes. She fixates on Daisy. "So how was your dinner with Rube?"

Mason laughs. "You really were on a date with that old fart?! I thought Georgie was joking."

Daisy follows George's example and rolls her eyes as she take out her earrings. Mason has obviously forgotten that when you've been around for almost a century, a few decades difference hardly matters. "It wasn't a date, Mason. It was a meal shared between two friends."

"Since when are you and Rube 'friends'?" George asks.

Daisy doesn't really know the answer to that. If she was being honest with herself, before tonight she would have said that she and Rube had an understanding that consisted of them staying out of each other's business.

Daisy looks at George and sighs. "I'm going to bed, so please keep it down both of you."

Before she closes her bedroom door, she hears George say to Mason, "I think she might actually like him."

-0-0-0-

The next morning, when Daisy and George arrive at Der Waffle Haus, Rube is the only one already seated.

"Morning, Rube," George says as she slides into the booth next to him.

"Morning," he echoes. He glances up from the book he's reading as Daisy takes a seat across from him. "Daisy."

"Rube," she responds.

George looks from one to the other. "Okay, what is up with you two?"

Daisy meets Rube's gaze for a moment. He responds with a raised eyebrow, but both are spared from answering when Kiffany arrives to take their order.

But George is not deterred that easily and repeats her question as soon as Kiffany leaves to get them coffee.

"Let it go, Georgia," Daisy says, secretly hoping that Mason will show up and his regular instances of incompetence will distract them all.

Rube sighs. "Nothing's up, peanut."

"Are you saying that you two are suddenly friends?" George demands.

"We're co-workers," Rube replies. "We ate a meal together. The end."

"You've never taken me out for dinner."

Rube glances at George then goes back to his book. "How 'bout that."

"Why haven't you?"

"Not part of my job description."

George scowls. "You know, you can be a real dick sometimes."

Rube doesn't bother to look up. "Only sometimes? I must be losing my touch."

Mason shows up then – all hot wind and careless jokes – and although the tension is pushed to a back burner, Daisy can still feel it there.

Later, after Mason leaves to find his reap and Rube excuses himself to go wherever it was he went on Sunday afternoons, George corners Daisy again.

"So, are you going on another date with 'the man'?" George asks, adding sarcastic air quotes to "the man".

"As I've told you, George—"

"Yeah, yeah, it wasn't a date. So you say."

"Well, it wasn't," Daisy repeats, coming within a hand's breadth of yelling. She hates losing her composure but hates it even more when she's not sure why. At this point, she doesn't even know if she's really trying to convince George or herself.

Daisy sighs, suddenly tired. "Why does it even matter to you?"

George meets her eyes solidly. "I don't give two shits. But it seems to matter a lot to you."

 _From the mouth of babes_ , Daisy thinks. The thing is that, almost in spite of herself, she likes Rube. At first it was amusing that he asked her out, but she honestly had a good time on their "not date". And although it seems unlikely now that he will ask her out again, Daisy finds herself hoping that he will.


End file.
